Dreams Of Reichenbach
by SnivaliceLlover
Summary: Pre-Reichenbach episode. John has some very vivid dreams and needs comforting from Sherlock to make them go away. However... Are they dreams or ominious premonitions?   Fluff at the end. JohnLock - can be read as established/platonic.


_The roar of water. _

_The crash of it hitting the razor-tipped rocks below._

_A desperate struggle on the perilous precipice of the cliff. I stand there, frozen in horror as I watch Sherlock and Moriarty grapple, angry shouts and screams coming from the consulting criminal as Sherlock finally gets the upper hand on him, gripping his arms and pinning them to his side with his vice-like grip. _

_It's now or never._

_Sherlock has his arms around Moriarty, effectively stopping the madman for reaching for any weapon, and with no snipers being able to conceal themselves in the undergrowth around us, Moriarty is for the first time powerless._

_But… Yes._

_Oh._

_I see it now. _

_A small sheath at Moriarty's left side, holding what I assume to be a deadly dagger. If Sherlock lets go, just to readjust his footing, the assassin would have the perfect opportunity to gut the detective without any remorse. Playing games is Moriarty's style though, dodging the inevitable when it came to Sherlock. _

_But when he's put in the life or death situation, James Moriarty is driven to desperate measures._

_And a sharp slice to Sherlock is all it's going to take. _

_Sherlock swings the man in his grasp around, so he's peering directly at me, his intelligent eyes fixed directly on mine. The man of ice and steel stares me down. I stare directly back, hoping for some mad moment I could access the consulting detective's thoughts in this one look. _

_But it's too late._

_Sherlock's made up his mind. I can tell from the grim set of his jaw, the open finality in his eyes. With the still-struggling Moriarty in his arms, Sherlock nods once at me, a gesture of friendship, respect and memories in that one slight movement. _

_He squeezes his eyes, and with one deliberately placed footstep, the two men fall off the edge, hurtling into the thunderous water from the Reichenbach falls._

_I scream._

"_John?" I can still hear Sherlock's low voice, calm and collected as always. Is this some sort of ghostly apparition, here to torture me through these agonising moments._

"_John! It's okay!" I feel a pressure on my shoulder and I start, falling over and off the edge, down into the icy water in which I just saw my dearest friend departure from this mortal coil._

I sit up, breathing heavily as the blankets twist around my body, sweaty and constricting. It's still pitch black outside, and from the eye-squinting bright glow of the beside table I see it's nearly 3 in the morning. Sherlock is sitting beside me, his dark eyes fixed on my face and his hand on my shoulder.

"Calm down. You were having a nightmare and I woke you up. Here-" he hands me a glass of water, his voice composed. "-Drink this".

I gulp it down gratefully, not caring if I spill it on the blankets. Nightmares plagued me since my return back to England, but not about something as personal as this. Not about Sherlock, and definitely not about Moriarty.

And that name….

_Reichenbach…_

Why does this name evoke such a fear in me? I don't even know the context or the history of the word Reichenbach, and fear of such a small matter is pointless.

Sherlock took back the glass, placing it quietly on the bedside table. He stood up and straightened his shirt, still watching me.

"Are you okay now? Your screams sounded as if you were experiencing something traumatic. Luckily Mrs Hudson didn't wake or she might have thought I was subjecting you to one of my experiments again" a twist of his lips was the closest the detective got to a smile that came from one of his own jokes. I could make him full out laugh when I wanted too, but right now I was too troubled to care.

"It was bad" I flopped back to my pillow. "Just… pictures and colours" I didn't want to illustrate, knowing it may make Sherlock's mind whir at the thought of Moriarty.

The detective shrugged and moved to the small armchair in the corner of my room. I was surprised to see him pick up his stray violin from the edge of the bed. He sat down with it, cradling the instrument, nearly invisible in the gloom of the night.

"Well… I'll stay here until you sleep again" Sherlock's voice was weaving through my already drooping state, exhaustion washing over me.

A gentle lullaby came from the violin, without fault and I felt myself descend back into the realm of dreams.

I fell asleep with _Mozart_ on my lips, and _Reichenbach_ in the back corner of my mind.

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer.<strong>

I don't own any characters. If I did, they wouldn't be this beautiful.


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